asked where I was going. I told him, ‘Wherever you’re
headed, that’s where I’m going.’ «
Several weeks later, after again sheltering with the James family, Perry decided on a definite
destination — Worcester, Massachusetts, the home town of an «Army buddy» he thought might
welcome him and help him find «a good-paying job.» Various detours prolonged the eastward
journey; he washed dishes in an Omaha restaurant, pumped gas at an Oklahoma garage, worked
a month on a ranch in Texas. By July of 1955 he had reached, on the trek to Worcester, a small
Kansas town, Phillipsburg, and there «fate,» in the form of «bad company,» asserted itself. «His
name was Smith,» Perry said. «Same as me. I don’t even recall his first name. He was just
somebody I’d picked up with somewhere, and he had a car, and he said he’d give me a ride as
far as Chicago. Anyway, driving through Kansas we came to this little Phillipsburg place and
stopped to look at a map. Seems to me like it was a Sunday. Stores shut. Streets quiet. My friend
there, bless his heart, he looked around and made a suggestion.» The suggestion was that they
burglarize a nearby building, the Chandler Sales Company. Perry agreed, and they broke into the
deserted premises and removed a quantity of office equipment (typewriters, adding machines).
That might have been that if only, some days afterward, the thieves hadn’t ignored a traffic signal
in the city of Saint Joseph, Missouri. «The junk was still in the car. The cop that stopped us
wanted to know where we got it. A little checking was done, and, as they say, we were ‘returned’
to Phillipsburg, Kansas. Where the folks have a real cute jail. If you like jails.» Within forty-eight
hours Perry and his companion had discovered an open window, climbed out of it, stolen a car,
and driven northwest to McCook, Nebraska. «Pretty soon we broke up, me and Mr. Smith. I don’t
know what ever became of him. We both made the F.B.I.’s Wanted list. But far as I know, they
never caught up with him.»
One wet afternoon the following November, a Greyhound bus deposited Perry in Worcester, a
Massachusetts factory town of steep, up-and-down streets that even in the best of weathers
seem cheerless and hostile. «I found the house where my friend was supposed to live. My Army
friend from Korea. But the people there said he’d left six months back and they had no idea where
he’d gone. Too bad, big disappointment, end of the world, all that So I found a liquor store and
bought a half gallon of red wop and went back to the bus depot and sat there drinking my wine
and getting a little warmer. I was really enjoying myself till a man came along and arrested me for
vagrancy.» The police booked him as «Bob Turner» — a name he’d adopted because of being listed
by the F.B.I. He spent fourteen days in jail, was fined ten dollars, and departed from Worcester on another wet November afternoon. «I went down to New York and took a room in a hotel on Eighth
Avenue,» Perry said. «Near Forty-second Street. Finally, I got a night job. Doing odd jobs around
a penny arcade. Right there on Forty-second Street, next to an Automat. Which is where I ate when I ate. In over three months I practically never left the Broadway area. For one thing, I didn’t
have the right clothes. Just Western clothes — jeans and boots. But there on Forty-second Street
nobody cares, it all rides — anything. My whole life, I never met so many freaks.»
He lived out the winter in that ugly, neon-lit neighborhood, with its air full of the scent of popcorn,
simmering hot dogs, and orange drink. But then, one bright March morning on the edge of spring,
as he remembered it, «two F.B.I, bastards woke me up. Arrested me at the hotel. Bang! — I was
extradited back to Kansas. To Phillipsburg. That same cute jail. They nailed me to the cross larceny, jailbreak, car theft. I got five to ten years in Lansing. After I’d been there awhile, I wrote
Dad. Let him know the news. And wrote Barbara, my sister. By now, over the years, that was all I
had left me. Jimmy a suicide. Fern out the window. My mother dead. Been dead eight years.
Everybody gone but Dad and Barbara.»
A letter from Barbara was among the sheaf of selected matter that Perry preferred not to leave
behind in the Mexico City hotel room. The letter, written in a pleasingly legible script, was dated
April 28, 1958, at which time the recipient had been imprisoned for approximately two years:
Dearest Bro. Perry,
We got your 2nd letter today & forgive me for not writing sooner. Our weather here, as
yours is, is turning warmer & maybe I am getting spring fever but I am going to try and do
better. Your first letter was very disturbing, as I’m sure you must have suspected but that
was not the reason I haven’t written — it’s true the children do keep me busy & it’s hard to
find time to sit and concentrate on a letter as I have wanted to write you for some time.
Donnie has learned to open the-doors and climb on the chairs & other furniture & he
worries me constantly about falling.
I have been able to let the children play in the yard now &then — but I always have to go
out with them as they can hurt themselves if I don’t pay attention. But nothing is forever &
I know I will be sorry when they start running the block and I don’t know where they’re at.
Here are some statistics if you’re interested Height
Weight
Shoe Size
Freddie
36-1/2″
26-1/2 Ibs.
7-1/2 narrow
Baby
37-1/2″
29-1/2 Ibs.
8 narrow
Donnie
34″
26 Ibs.
6-1/2 wide
You can see that Donnie is a pretty big boy for 15 months with his 16 teeth and his
sparkling personality — people just can’t help loving him. He wears the same size clothes
as Baby and Freddie but the pants are too long as yet.
I am going to try & make this letter a long one so it will probably have a lot of interruptions
such as right now it’s time for Donnie’s bath — Baby & Freddie had theirs this a.m. as it’s
quite cold today & I have had them inside. Be back soon About my typing — First — I cannot tell a lie! I am not a typist, I use from 1 to 5 fingers &
although I can manage & do help Big Fred with his business affairs, what it takes me 1
hr. to do would probably take someone with the Know How — 15 minutes — Seriously, I do
not have the time nor the will to learn professionally. But I think it is wonderful how you
have stuck with it and become such an excellent typist. I do believe we all were very
adaptable (Jimmy, Fern, you and myself) & we had all been blessed with a basic flair for
the artistic — among other things. Even Mother & Dad were artistic.
I truthfully feel none of us have anyone to blame for whatever we have done with our own
personal lives. It has been proven that at the age of 7 most of us have reached the age of
reason — which means we do, at this age, understand & know the difference between
right & wrong. Of course — environment plays an awfully important part in our lives such
as the Convent in mine & in my case I am grateful for that influence. In Jimmy’s case — he
was the strongest of us all. I remember how he worked & went to school when there was
no one to tell him & it was his own WILL to make something of himself. We will never
know the reasons for what eventually happened, why he did what he did, but I still hurt
thinking of it. It was such a waste. But we have very little control over our human
weaknesses, & this applies also to Fern & the hundreds of thousands of other people including ourselves — for we all have weaknesses. In your case — I don’t know what your
weakness is but I do feel — IT IS NO SHAME TO HAVE A DIRTY FACE — THE SHAME
COMES WHEN YOU KEEP IT DIRTY.
In all truthfulness & with love for you Perry, for you are my only living brother and the
uncle of my children, I cannot say or feel your attitude towards our father or your
imprisonment just or healthy. If you are getting your back up — better simmer down as I
realize there are none of us who take criticism cheerfully & it is natural to feel a certain
amount of resentment towards the one giving this criticism so I am prepared for one or
two things — a) Not to hear from you at all, or b) a letter telling me exactly what you think
of me.
I hope I’m wrong & I sincerely hope you will give this letter a lot of thought & try to see how someone else feels. Please understand I know I am not an authority & I do not boast
great intelligence or education but I do believe I am a normal individual with basic
reasoning powers & the will to live my life according to the laws of God & Man. It is also
true that I have «fallen» at times, as is normal — for as I said I am human & therefore I too
have human weaknesses but the point is, again, There is no shame — having a dirty face the shame comes when you keep it dirty. No one is more aware of my shortcomings and
mistakes than myself so I won’t bore you further.
Now, first, & most important — Dad is not responsible for your wrong doings or your good
deeds. What you have done, whether